The Muggles' Son
by Cosmyk Angel
Summary: What if the milkman had found Harry freezing on the Dursleys' porch that morning after he was placed there by Dumbledore? What if, on impulse, the milkman took little Harry home with him and adopted the orphaned child, completely unaware of how important the boy was to the wizarding world?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The Wizarding World of Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I am not making any money from this story, merely playing in her playground.

The Muggles' Son

Chapter 1: Baby on the Doorstep

The November night was frigid. Patrick rubbed his arms as he hurried up the walk to 4 Privet Drive. This was his last delivery before he could return home to the warm arms of Diana. It was five a.m. and still dark. Frost coated the grass and bushes lining the walk and house. A whimper caught his attention and he looked toward the sound. Ahead of him on the right side of the stoop was a basket with a small form huddled inside. Carefully setting down the bottles of milk for fear of waking the Dursley shrew, he approached the small figure with caution.

"Mama?" The plea in the voice was heart wrenching. A tiny boy, not more than a year and a half old was sitting in the basket, shivering, his lips blue with cold. As Patrick approached, he watched the green eyes grow wide and fearful. The small form began to shake his head violently.

"Mama? Dada? Mu-Mu? Pa-Pa?" The little boy burst into wailing tears.

Not knowing what to do and fearful of waking Mrs. Dursley or, heaven forbid, her son, Patrick scooped up the small boy and began humming an old Irish lullaby to him. His mind was trying to process the idea that anyone would leave a small child on a doorstep in frigid conditions. He knew this wasn't Mrs. Dursley's little 'Dudders' as her son more properly resembled a beach ball than a baby. Why would anyone leave a baby on that horrid woman's doorstep? He remembered the time a cat had startled him and he'd dropped a bottle of milk on her porch. She'd come out, screaming shrilly at the top of her lungs, demanding to know why he was disturbing her precious baby. Her husband was worse. He'd come storming out of the house, fists swinging, and it was only Patrick's speed that had gotten him back to his truck before the man had scored a hit on him.

The boy looked up at him through wet green eyes. "Mama?"

It was then that he noticed the blood-crusted scar on the boy's forehead shaped like a lightning bolt. Someone had left the poor child on the doorstep still injured from something. He didn't know what would cause an injury of that sort, only that he'd never seen its like before.

A light flicked on upstairs at number 4, and Patrick made a split second decision. He scooped up the basket and sprinted for his truck, placing Harry in the basket which he then secured on the passenger floorboard. He gunned the engine and sped away just as the front door opened.

~TheMugglesSon~

When Petunia opened the front door, the only thing she saw was the milk-crate. She stepped out, wrapped only in her bathrobe and peered up the street. Puzzled, she stepped back inside and closed the door.

"Who was it?" her husband asked, his massive form lumbering into the hall, bouncing a squalling Dudley.

"No one, it must have been those horrid cats of Mrs. Figg's yowling again," Petunia griped, scooping her Dudders out of her husband's arms and heading to the kitchen to heat a bottle. Vernon stooped, picked up the milk crate and followed his wife back inside.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: The Wizarding World of Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I am not making any money from this story, merely playing in her playground. _

**Author's Note: As some of you may have noticed, I had a typo in the last chapter where the Milkman reached for his wand. That has been fixed. The milkman is a muggle, not a wizard. More is explained in this chapter.**

The Muggles' Son

Chapter 2: A Strange Child

Patrick tiptoed into the family room, the small boy in his arms. The ride had settled the toddler and he'd barely twitched when Patrick had scooped him up from the basket to carry him inside. He was currently nuzzled into his shoulder, one tiny thumb pressed between his lips. He slipped quietly down the hall, barely avoiding falling as he stepped on a large plastic truck lying on its side. He winced at the loud *crack* the toy made as his weight shattered its fragile frame. Finally arriving at his bedroom, he opened the door quietly and stepped inside.

"Diana, Diana dear, please wake up," he shook his wife's shoulder. She rolled over and mumbled something incoherent. "Diana, wake up, it's important!"

His wife mumbled, then sat up rubbing her eyes. "Pat? What's wrong? Is something wrong with Colin? She peered at him in the dark room, reaching for the bedside table and sliding a pair of spectacles on her face. "That's not Colin, what's going on, Pat?" She slid out of bed, her feet searching for her slippers.

Patrick sat down at the foot of the bed, gently placing the sleeping boy on the comforter beside him and adjusting the thin blanket around him.

"Patrick? Who is that child? Oh, Patrick, what have you done?" Diana demanded, switching on her bedside lamp.

"I found him, Di," He ran his hand through his pale blonde hair. "You remember the Dursleys don't you, always trying to make trouble?" She nodded, remembering the time she'd run into Mrs. Dursley while shopping and her little brat had struck the then 3-day old Colin across the face when he wouldn't stop crying. Mrs. Dursley had tried to claim that Colin's crying had upset her precious son's nerves. Patrick continued, disrupting Diana's memory, "he was sitting in a basket on the Dursleys' doorstep shivering with cold and wrapped only in that strange, thin blanket. I couldn't leave him with that horrible woman, I just couldn't!"

"You know we are going to have to take him back to them, right?" Diana prodded, knowing the trouble they could get into if they tried to keep the child.

"But Di, do you really want him growing up to be just like that horrid little boy of theirs?"

"We have no choice. If they don't want him, we can suggest adopting him, but until we know, we have to do what is right." Her words were cut off by a wailing from the other room.

"Oh mercy, Colin's awake," she groaned. Patrick jumped to his feet and ran out of the room to retrieve his son. He came back in a few minutes later, a small toe-haired baby on his shoulder.

"Five Thirty, just as usual," he exclaimed happily, handing the fussy baby to his wife who had already begun to unbutton her gown. He watched with pride as his son nursed, thanking God once again that the baby who had been a month and a half premature was now thriving. Movement on the bed caught his eye and he looked over to see the black-haired child sit up.

"Mama?" the little boy asked, peering up at Diana. The desperate, pleading tone to his voice brought tears to her eyes even as she shook her head. "No, dear, I'm not your mama. I don't know where your mama is."

The boy glanced over at Patrick, "dada?"

Patrick felt his eyes watering, "no, he whispered hoarsely, I'm not your dada, son."

"Haa-ee wan' mama!" the boy demanded, his face tearing up and his voice rising. He clutched the thin blanket to him.

"We'll try to find your mama, son. Are you hungry?"

The little boy thought for a moment and then nodded. "Cheeos?"

"What?" Patrick asked, confused. He scooped the child up and headed to the kitchen. They would go see the Dursleys after the boy had been fed and his clothes changed. Patrick flipped on the kitchen light and got his first good glimpse of the boy. The thin scar on his forehead was no longer bleeding, but was now crusted with blood. The boy's clothes were filthy, looking as though he had been rolling in dust and debris. There were even fragments of what appeared to be wood splinters adorning his pajamas. Patrick did a double-take as he looked back at the pajamas. They were moving. Well, actually the little golden orbs on the pajamas were moving, zooming all around the dark blue flannel fabric. "How the hell?" he muttered, staring down at the Pj's. The little boy followed his gaze and giggled, hunger forgotten for a moment. "'Nitch," he said pointing to one of the orbs and giggling as it moved away again. He set the boy down on the floor carefully as he went to the pantry for the high-chair his mother-in-law had gifted them for Colin at their baby shower. Colin didn't need it yet, but it would work for the little boy. He assembled it quickly and then plopped the toddler in the chair and fastened him in. Now the boy was safe. He hurried into the hallway and popped his head in the door of his room. "Diana, I'm going to bathe the boy first and throw his Jams in the washer, he's filthy, then I'll feed him. He looks like he's been through some sort of disaster."

"Remember to take pictures first, child services may want to see what condition he was in when you found him," Diana suggested, hoisting Colin on her shoulder to burp him.

"Right," Patrick scooped the camera case off its hook on the back of the door and wandered into the kitchen. He stopped dead, staring in astonishment at the scene before him. The little boy was sitting in the high chair, a huge pile of Cheerios on the tray in front of him and the discarded box lying on the floor beside the chair, trailing Cheerios. The boy smiled up at him happily, little fingers plucking a cheerio from the tray and holding it up. "Cheeo's?"

Patrick smiled at the boy and took the cheerio, wondering how the box of Cheerios had made it from the top of the refridgerator to the high chair try. After deciding it didn't matter, he pulled a bowl from the cupboard and swept the Cheerios into it before placing it on the tray.

Smiling happily, the little boy finger-fed himself the Cheerios as Patrick cleaned up the spilled box and walked into the laundry to prepare the sink. The bathtub was too big for such a small boy, but Patrick thought the clothes-rinsing sink beside the washing machine would be the perfect size and he could easily throw the clothes into the wash while he was bathing the boy. Placing the mostly empty box of Cheerios back on top of the fridge, he turned to the little boy. "Would you like a bath?"

"Haa-ee bath!" the child exclaimed, clapping his hands excitedly, Cheerios forgotten.

**~TheMuggles'Son~**

The bath was a great success, though Patrick thought more water probably ended up on him due to the child's splashing than on the boy. After the bath, he wrapped the little boy in a towel and waited for the washing machine to finish. Diana had finished nursing Colin and tucked him back into bed. She was now sitting on the sofa in her bathrobe and night dress, watching the news.

"I see Ted's back," she commented, referring to the weatherman who had been neighbors with Patrick from the time the three of them were children.

"Yeah, he said something about his wife's family having an emergency. Not sure what it was, he was rather vague," he replied. "Di, I think there's something strange about this boy."

"Why do you think that?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Well, the pictures on his pajamas move, and when I walked into the kitchen after grabbing the camera, he's somehow managed to get the box of Cheerios off the fridge and had poured them out onto his tray. They were on top of the fridge across the room from him when I left and he was buckled into the high chair. I only left him alone for a moment," Patrick explained.

"You are probably just tired from working so early, and one of us probably forgot to put the box of Cheerios away and he grabbed it," Diana had a logical explaination for everything.

Patrick just hmmed, figuring he would show the pajamas to his wife when they finished in the laundry. He set the boy down on the floor in just his towel. "Will you watch him while I change?" At his wife's nod, he hurried into the bedroom, and began shucking his soaked garments.


End file.
